


Give and Take

by KrisRix



Series: Kinktober 2020 [3]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fisting, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Begging, Blood Drinking, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fanart, Fisting, Kinktober, M/M, NSFW Art, POV Third Person, Power Play, Pushy Bottoms, Rough Sex, Spit As Lube, Vampire Bites, no beta because I have SOME shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix
Summary: Fic and art for Kinktober prompt "fisting"Baz is being a needy, uptight brat. So Simon figures: what better way to loosen him up than by giving him more than he can bear?
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Kinktober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956733
Comments: 14
Kudos: 273
Collections: Kinktober 2020





	Give and Take

Baz has been stressed lately. Cruel. Uptight. Spring-loaded, really. Everything that makes Simon’s blood boil. There’s no stopping Baz when he’s on a tear like this, and there’s no calming Simon once Baz has got his back up.

The bathroom door slams shut behind Baz’s last snotty outburst, and Simon half-heartedly kicks the leg of the kitchen table. So much for a nice breakfast together. Simon is practically vibrating with restraint; he knows socking Baz in the jaw won’t solve anything—or even be all that cathartic—but if he doesn’t snap Baz out of this foul mood soon, Simon might start seriously wrecking the furniture for release. He definitely needs to wreck _something_.

Maybe he _will_ wreck Baz.

Not with a fist, of course.

There are other ways—far more enjoyable ways.

They’ve gone at it when annoyed with each other before, and it’s always been mind-meltingly good. Simon can’t recall a time when they were quite this at odds—for so many days straight no less—but surely that should only make the sex all the better then, no?

One way to find out.

The shower is running, so Simon decides to wait. He paces their flat in a familiar pattern (kitchen, living room, hall, bedroom, office, hall, kitchen …). Baz takes the longest showers; Simon loses track of how many times he’s traversed the flat, which is partially the point. It’s meditative, in its own way.

By the time Simon hears the water turn off, he’s feeling less unhinged, though just as feral. This could go very, very poorly, but Simon’s never been particularly skilled in danger-assessment, so why start now?

Just as Baz is stepping out of the tub, Simon flings open the bathroom door, putting the durability of the creaking doorstop to the test. (Might be time to replace this one.)

“Crowley!” Baz clutches his towel to his chest with a naked surprise that sends a shiver through Simon. “Have some bloody civility, will you?”

“Get on the bed,” Simon demands as firmly as he can muster.

Baz’s eyebrow shoots up, effective even after all this time. “Are you bossing me around?”

Simon thrusts out his jaw. “Yep. Now shut up and get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

Baz considers Simon for a long moment, staring down his nose … then finally acquiesces with a sniff before dropping his towel. They exchange dark looks as Simon steps aside to let Baz haughtily brush past. Simon trails Baz to the bedroom where he obediently positions himself.

Simon stands at the foot of the bed, admiring the view as he rubs his palm over the growing bulge in his joggers.

Baz is always beautiful, and this angle is no exception. There’s a gleam to his skin from the heat of the shower and the light sheen of water still clinging. His hair is dripping onto the sheets, which Simon knows he hates, and that just makes this all the better, doesn’t it?

“Whatever it is you’re going to do, get on with it already,” Baz hisses over his shoulder.

A slap rings out in the room followed by Baz’s choked gasp.

Maybe Simon can’t use his fist, but sometimes an open palm can be just as satisfying.

“Who is it calling the shots right now, do you think?” Simon asks as he watches red bloom across Baz’s arse.

Baz hangs his head and only breathes heavily for a moment. Simon aches at the sound and the anticipation it carries. Baz could fight back—that’s always its own type of delicious—or he could give in and let them both have this. It’s a toss-up every time, which one of them is willing to give over the power.

“You…,” Baz finally accedes. “You are.”

Simon kneels on the mattress behind Baz. He pushes his joggers to his thighs, springing free with a readiness that would be embarrassing if Baz wasn’t clearly just as into it. It’s more than Baz’s hair dripping onto the sheets now....

Simon rubs his hands over Baz’s rear, feeling the heat of the one abused cheek under his palm. “Say my name,” Simon demands, voice rough.

The smirk in Baz’s voice is audible as he drawls, “Snow.”

Simon forces Baz’s cheeks apart, putting Baz even further on display, then he deposits a loud dollop of spit on his target. Baz squirms (because he hates it) (because he loves it).

“Not my name,” Simon says. Truly—Baz is the only one to have called him that in years, ever since they found out it’s not Simon’s last name after all. “Try again.”

Baz’s fingers curl in the sheets. “ _Simon_ ,” he breathes.

“That’s better.” Simon nudges forward, sliding himself along the wetness and squeezing Baz’s bum on either side of his length. He ruts into the snug feel of it. “I’m gonna give it to you hard and mean, Baz, because that’s what you and your shitty attitude deserve. Got it?”

Simon relishes in watching Baz struggle to submit: his head droops lower, his shoulders curl in, his back hunches, his breathing grows more uneven. Simon’s spent nearly his whole life studying Baz; he knows all the many steps it takes for Baz to thoroughly let go. It’s not always necessary, but, to Simon’s supreme delight, Baz is striving to do it right now.

Bit by bit, Baz is releasing the coil that’s been crushing them both over these past few stressful weeks.

And Simon will be damned good and sure Baz stays loose for the next long while.

“Yes…,” Baz murmurs eventually.

“‘Yes’ what?”

“Yes, it’s what I deserve … Simon.”

That’s all Simon needs to unleash.

He gives it to Baz. He gives so freely, it’s hard to imagine there was ever a time where he was afraid to do just that. If anything, these days he finds himself wishing Baz would let him give _more_ —that Baz would _take_ more. They’re not there yet, so Simon pistons his hips harder, until, hopefully, the _only_ thing Baz can do is take it.

And, oh, Baz takes it so well.... He whines and snarls, upper body collapsing onto the bed. He’s a wild, hungry thing for Simon’s punishing pace. He trembles, literally tearing at the sheets (they’re well-versed in mending spells), and it doesn’t take long for Simon to have him begging, “More, please, more, Simon, please, please!” It’s Simon’s most favourite sound in the world.

Simon gives him more. He gives it to Baz until he can’t go any rougher. And yet … Baz keeps begging.

All right, so perhaps wanting Baz to _take more_ was somewhat short-sighted. They’ve never had any concerns over Simon’s size in the past, thank you very much, but Baz’s yearning is quickly turning petulant, and that is the polar opposite of what Simon is trying to accomplish here.

Well, if the goal is to overwhelm Baz with Simon until he’s too mindless to consider being good for anything other than this, then Simon supposes giving Baz some more of himself is the only way forwards.

It’s only after the second finger is seated alongside Simon’s length that Baz starts to writhe in protest. He twists around enough to see what Simon’s doing to him, face glowing brighter with embarrassment.

“What are you—?”

Simon grins sharply, wriggling his fingers. “Giving you more.”

“Seven snakes,” Baz gasps.

“More like two,” Simon says. “But if you want seven…”

Although Simon thought the added digits and teasing might humble Baz slightly, it seems to only turn him on further. Baz snaps his hips back with shaky desperation. “Give me everything,” Baz keens.

Sweeter words …

Simon does—he gives Baz everything. He always will. He splits Baz open with his usual girth and three additional fingers until Baz is a whimpering mess. It’s so good, and Baz is so wrecked. Yet, even though Simon is hurtling towards the finish line, it’s still somehow not _enough_ ; Simon wants to wreck Baz more.

 _More, more, more_ —

Baz moans in equal parts misery and ecstasy as Simon yanks his fingers free, instead gripping Baz’s hips in both hands with bruising force, slamming away with abandon as he chases his peak. Baz’s body flutters around Simon, eager to receive.

“Take it,” Simon growls again and again over Baz’s chorus of “yes, yes, yes”. Simon unloads long and deep, making sure Baz feels the pulse of it. He doesn’t let up his thrusting—it’s still not _enough_. Simon needs to give Baz every last drop until he’s too overstimulated to continue.

Baz sobs when Simon ultimately withdraws. “No, please, Simon, please,” he complains, empty and quivering, unable to even squeeze for some semblance of relief because Simon’s hold is keeping him spread open. “I need it, please, I’ll be good, be so good, Simon.”

Baz is always beautiful, and this spectacle is no exception. There’s fluids of all sorts, tears and drool and a sheen of sweat. He’s dribbling between his legs, untouched because Simon never gave him permission to do so, and they both know this game between them well enough by now, don’t they?

“I know, baby,” Simon consoles, kneading Baz’s bum. “You’ve been good, I know, so good, baby. The best for me.”

“Yes, please, please, please—”

“Shhh, sweetheart.”

Baz presses his face into the mattress to stifle his sounds.

“Get me the lube,” Simon orders, voice firm yet kind. “I’m gonna give you more than you can bear.”

There’s a dark thrill that runs through Simon as he watches Baz grope around for the lube on their bedside table in a lusty haze. Simon often finds it such a pity he never thought to addle the insufferable T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch in this manner during their years throwing punches. But now, as Baz fumbles, made stupid with how much he’s gagging for it, Simon realizes maybe he was wrong: maybe a fist is exactly what’s called for here.

Simon isn’t sure what he’s expecting—for it to not actually fit, perhaps. However, it seems he loosened Baz up quite effectively; four fingers is no problem at all, and it’s only as Simon tries to nudge his thumb inside as well that Baz’s noises of pleasure become faintly tinged with discomfort.

“Shhh,” Simon urges again, rubbing his free hand along Baz’s shivering spine. “You can take it, I know you can.”

“What … what are you…”

“Shhh.”

“Can’t … Simon … I can’t…”

“You can, sweetheart.”

Baz goes to jelly under Simon’s careful assault, legs no longer able to hold him up. Simon wastes no time flipping Baz onto his back and breaching him anew, drawing a broken cry from Baz’s lips. Such lovely lips … shining with saliva and pushed apart from Baz’s dropped fangs....

Even though Baz has been such a good boy, Simon finds himself still wanting to get that mouth all bloody.

Thankfully, he has two hands.

As Simon rocks one hand between Baz’s legs, fitting more inside with each push, he shoves his other against Baz’s mouth. Baz’s incoherent noises go all muffled around the meat of Simon’s palm. He laves at Simon’s skin sloppily.

“Take it,” Simon rumbles, nudging against a fang. Baz arches and spreads his legs wider. “That’s it. Take it, Baz. I want you to— _ahn!_ ” Simon cries out as Baz swiftly punctures his flesh.

It’s always better than Simon remembers. Vampire venom floods his senses, a brilliant cocktail that sets every neuron alight with pleasure. His thoughts melt away as Baz suckles, the rest of Simon’s blood rushing south, leaving him throbbing with need all over again.

Simon watches in a trance as Baz yields entirely to his own pleasure. Baz’s eyes roll back. He looks every sort of punch-drunk as Simon offers his fists at both ends. It’s messy (they’ll need far more than mending spells after this), and it’s wild, and it doesn’t take long at all before Baz completely falls apart, shaking violently as the euphoria takes over. Simon’s never seen anything like it—it nearly sends him to pieces, as well.

Even once Baz can’t spill another drop, and even once he can’t drink another drop, his body continues to shudder, so Simon doesn’t relent. He works his hand against Baz’s most sensitive spot until Baz emits a different type of sob that Simon knows is from the less enjoyable kind of overstimulation.

Baz mewls with boneless satisfaction as Simon retreats.

Finally, he’s sated....

But …

 _More_.

Simon needs _one more thing_.

He haphazardly swipes his hands clean on the sheets and then crawls up Baz’s body. “Still need you, baby,” Simon slurs as he straddles Baz’s head (with only minimal intoxicated bumbling). “Suck this down too, yeah?”

“Yeah…,” Baz manages, more of a croak than a word. He stares up at Simon with half-lidded eyes and pushes out his tongue.

Beautiful, Baz is always so beautiful—

Simon positions himself over Baz’s waiting mouth. (His _bloody_ mouth—which, after the fact, might not be all that appealing, but for now it’s the furthest concern from Simon’s mind.) Simon presses inside, and Baz’s eyes fall closed as he gives in completely, letting Simon take his pleasure from Baz’s throat.

And take he does.

“Feeling better?” Simon asks a while later.

Baz hums and burrows closer into Simon’s chest. “Yeah … thank you, Snow.”

Simon gives Baz’s hair a gentle tug. “Not my name.”

It’s an old fight between them, one Simon still loves.

He loves all of their fights, really.

Especially when this is how they get to make up.

“No,” Baz agrees sleepily, his voice barely there, “but it’s _my_ name for you. No one else gets to call you that any more. It’s all ‘Mr. Salisbury-Pitch’ now. ‘Snow’ is just for me.”

Simon smiles into Baz’s hair. “All of me is just for you.”

Baz hums again … then goes heavy in Simon’s arms.

Taking a nap does seem like a very good idea, doesn’t it?

Simon tucks his husband closer and closes his eyes, giving in to sleep.


End file.
